


T'ain't What You Do

by mightythirst



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Ballroom Dancing, F/F, F/M, M/M, Scary Shimada Momma, Slow Burn, Swing Dancing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-03
Updated: 2018-05-01
Packaged: 2018-11-22 17:04:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 12,557
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11384571
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mightythirst/pseuds/mightythirst
Summary: Hanzo Shimada and his dance partner Satya Vaswani have been World Ballroom Champions for three years in a row. This is the first time their chance at claiming the title for the fourth consecutive year is in jeopardy. Then Hanzo's whole world is turned upside-down when he's introduced to a Swing Dancing Cowboy by the name of Jesse McCree.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> The competitive ballroom AU that someone actually asked for? This idea latched on and wouldn't let go when someone in the McHanzo discord asked for one.
> 
> I admittedly know very little about competitive ballroom dancing, but I'm a voracious swing dancer and have been tinkering with the idea of a dance fic for some time. Thinking about the competitive ballroom aspect suddenly made things click together.

Hanzo towels the sweat off his face and looks at himself in the mirror. He sees an absolute wreck staring back at himself. His concealer has rubbed off, showing his red cheeks and the dark circles under his eyes. Knowing he has a scant few minutes, he hastily touches up and reapplies his shimmery gold eyeshadow. There will be all sorts of lenses and flashes in his face. An aspect of his profession that he wholeheartedly detests.

He draws in a breath and steels himself when he hears the restroom door swing open. The tension mounting in his shoulders eases a bit when the shock green hair catches his eye in the mirror.

“Anija! C’mon, they’re about to announce the winners!”

His chest is still rising and falling fast when Genji grabs his arm and hauls him to the main ballroom. For someone who moves with a limp, his brother is still swift on his feet. 

His partner Satya is waiting for him at the foyer, arms folded over a stunning gold gown that complements his rich royal blue suit. She looks impeccable, as always. Not a hair out of place. One might struggle to believe she had just finished the Professional International Latin Final Round.

Hanzo nods to her, and she replies by allowing a small smile as she hooks around his free arm.

“You look terrible,” Satya murmurs under her breath as they stride forward, making their way closer to the announcer’s podium. It is not intended as an insult, and Hanzo knows better than to take it as such.

“I can assure you I’m more than aware.”

“Your performance today was -” Satya, for once, hesitates. She is searching for the appropriate adjective.

“Lacking?” Hanzo supplies.

“That would be one way of putting it.” She turns to him, eyes sharp and critical yet underscored with concern. “Did you not sleep well last night?”

Before Hanzo can answer, the judges take the stage with the Master of Ceremonies. Hanzo would not say he’s ever been fond of an MC, but Lúcio Correia dos Santos is hard not to like. He will be the first to admit the man has a dazzling smile and more charm in his pinky than Hanzo possesses in his entire being.

“Ladies, gentlemen, and all my dear friends! Thank you for waiting so patiently. The results are in and we have our winners for the Professional International American Smooth division!”

The third place winners are called up to the stage. They are two rising stars from Britain and Australia, Lena Oxton and Jamison Fawkes. An unlikely partnership, perhaps, but Hanzo witnessed first-hand how their abundant energy complements one another on the dancefloor. They have an endurance that could no doubt steamroll an International 10-Dance competition. He has no doubt they will be an eminent threat in the World Championships.

Hanzo applauds as they accept their bronze trophies. He tries to ignore a stab of envy when Oxton leans down to accept a bouquet of roses from a redheaded woman while Jamison blows kisses to an enormous man taking photographs in front of the stage. Not all competitors are so lucky to have their loved ones with them for a qualifying event overseas.

Then again, Genji has always been there for him, and for that he is eternally grateful. As if he possesses a sixth sense, Genji glances over at him and grins.

“They are so cute. Almost makes me want a steady partner.” Genji sighs goodnaturedly.

“Aren’t you allergic to monogamy?” Satya smirks.

“Maybe I just haven’t met the right one!”

“You’ve had a very large pool to sample from.”

“Please, you two,” Hanzo nearly hisses, too wound up to find their bantering the slightest bit amusing. 

Thankfully, Genji and Satya know him better than to argue or take offense. They understand the pressure he’s under. Satya’s hand tightens on his elbow. Hanzo feels Genji’s hand squeeze his shoulder.

The MC’s infectious laughter floods the room with help from the microphone. “AMAZING dancers, these two! Did you see them? They nearly blew me away with their moves. Let’s give them another hand!” Lucio draws a larger round of applause. 

“Now, then! Let’s drop the beat for our second place finalists.”

On cue, the DJ plays a few seconds from DNCE’s Body Moves. The crowd cheers and begins swaying along to the beat. Everyone in the room is rollicking about in anticipation except the two couples waiting for Lucio to stop keeping them in suspense.

Hanzo’s attention slides over to the other side of the dance floor. Amélie Lacroix meets his gaze and holds it with her piercing hazel eyes. He’s surprised that she has the grace to offer a short nod. Loathe as he is to admit it, he and his greatest rival are too alike. Perhaps in a different life, they would have been the best of friends. Here, however, they would sooner trip each other and pray for a twisted ankle than share in any illusions of camaraderie.

The woman mouths something to him with a slight smirk. 

_Yes,_ Hanzo agrees, tilting his chin up. _May the best win_.

Hanzo turns back to the stage and braces himself. Lucio is opening the card with the results.

“Please join me in congratulating…” Lucio pauses, and the fleeting flash of confusion is almost imperceptible. He instantly covers it with a broad smile.

Satya’s face falls as Lucio speaks the words she has never heard in connection with one another: “Satya Vaswani and Hanzo Shimada, our second place winners!”

For a moment, Hanzo feels the floor bottom out beneath him. He stares unseeing. The applause sounds filtered. It reaches him muffled, like it’s coming from a room three doors down the hallway. He cannot remember how to walk, much less dance, until Genji gives his shoulder a small shake.

“Brother.” Genji’s forced smile appears in front of him, blocking the stage from view and bringing him back to the horrible reality he does not want to face. _Second place_.

“You and Satya need to go up there and accept your awards. And try your best to smile.”

“Let’s go,” Satya murmurs, and while Hanzo can fake a smile, he cannot bring himself to face his partner as they accept their silver trophies.

It is his fault.

If he had slept more. If he had trained harder. If he hadn’t refused to take the pills.

On and on the list goes as Hanzo shakes hands with the judges. It does not stop when he takes a bow with Satya for the photographers, nor does it stop looping back when they exit the stage. 

The moment they are out of sight, Satya drops the smile and looks sorely tempted to find a garbage can. Hanzo shares the same feeling, but knows he will keep the trophy. It is a reminder of his failure. He won’t forget this moment.

Especially not when he hears Lucio’s voice call Amélie and Gérard Lacroix to the stage with a reception of thunderous applause.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to my two wonderful betas, [ReduxCath](http://archiveofourown.org/users/ReduxCath/profile) and [TehMoonPrincess](http://archiveofourown.org/users/TehMoonPrincess/profile)! They provided me with wonderful feedback and suggestions.

Hanzo wakes up the next morning before the light begins to peek in through the deep maroon curtains that cover the balcony door. He thanks every higher power that there are thirteen hours separating him from Hanamura, Japan. It gives him some time to wash his face, brush his teeth, and mentally prepare for the phone call he receives promptly at eight o’clock.

“My son.”

Hanzo closes his eyes. He knows it’s going to be bad when he hears his father’s voice first. Sojiro is the calm before the storm. 

“Father.”

Hanzo sinks back onto the mattress, curling up on his side. He knows he should be sitting upright or standing. Posture can convey much through the voice, but he feels too small to pretend that he has his shoulders square and his chin held high.

“Before your mother speaks with you, I would like us to talk first.” Sojiro’s voice is calm. Hanzo can imagine his father is out in the garden, idly strolling down the well-worn paths he and Genji would roam as boys. “Are you well?”

“I’ve been better.” It’s not exactly the truth, and it’s not exactly a lie, but he cannot tell his father that he feels like he’s hit his second lowest point in life. It’s not rock bottom, but it seems within reach.

“Have you slept?”

“Yes.”

“For how long?”

“Enough.”

His father’s soft sigh of resignation makes Hanzo’s chest tighten. It takes no words at all for his father to make him feel like he has failed someone yet again. The silence stretches on and Hanzo can imagine his father pinching the bridge of his nose. It’s a habit he inherited from the man. Hanzo turns on his back and stares up at the hotel’s off-white ceiling. The silence might engulf him. Hanzo thinks he wouldn’t mind being swallowed whole and disappearing for good.

“Try to get more than enough. No matter how long your mother demands you must train from now on, you must sleep, Hanzo.”

“Yes, father.”

“I’m going to hand the phone over to your mother now,” Sojiro warns him, but before he ends the conversation, he adds, “Take care of yourself, and take care of Genji. I love you both.”

The words catch in Hanzo’s throat and are trapped there. He wants to tell his father that he loves him too, but the moment passes before he can. There’s a sound of the phone being transferred and Hanzo feels his stomach churn.

“Your placements yesterday were unacceptable,” Akashi states, tone clipped.

“No one agrees more with you than me.” His voice sounds almost foreign to his own ears. Flat, emotionless, hollow.

“I’m glad you don’t deny it, Hanzo. Your failure makes me think your current environment has too many – distractions.”

Hanzo opens his mouth to protest and shuts it without an utterance. Hanzo wonders what distractions she imagines he has any time for when he’s in the studio training day in and day out, leaving only to eat and sleep in his apartment. His ears burn at his own cowardice. Genji wouldn’t have remained silent. Genji would be arguing, yelling, demanding that she listen long enough to understand that he was only human, not perfection incarnate.

He wishes Genji were there with him now when the axe falls.

“That’s why your father and I think it’s best that you and your partner leave Los Angeles. It’s such a big, noisy city.”

Hanzo’s insides twist and he barely restrains himself from chucking his cellphone at the wall when he hears her tongue click. 

The two bedroom apartment on Sepulveda Boulevard floods his mind’s eyes. He can see what had slowly become his home rapidly slipping out of his grasp. His bright kitchen, the frumpy old sofa Genji brought in from Craigslist (despite his objections), pots of succulents that he has nurtured from clippings. It is gone, now. He should have known it would be foolish to grow attached.

“All the necessary arrangements have been made to reroute your flight directly to Santa Fe,” Akashi continues, matter-of-fact. “You’ll train there until the International Championships. Perhaps after we see the results we can negotiate where you will train for the next season.”

Hanzo takes in a deep breath and tries to remind himself that his mother is doing this for him. It’s for his own good. He needs to believe that she wants the best for him if he’s going to board the plane, not run screaming into the Atlantic.

His mother must be at her desk with her headset on, because her mechanical keyboard is loud and clacky. She is typing something out before the mouse clicks.

“I’ve just forwarded all the logistics to you.”

Hanzo feels his phone vibrate with the ping of a new email. He will look at the email dictating his new life in New Mexico later. There is still one more subject Akashi has neglected to mention. It takes a few beats before Hanzo trusts himself to speak.

“Very well… and what of Genji?” Hanzo is almost afraid to ask. He’s scared that his parents will rip his brother away from him, just as they are tearing up the roots he had sown in California.

“Oh.” There is an pause. “I suppose he may stay with you, so long as you don’t think he’s in the way.”

Hanzo’s jaw clenches and unclenches. He hates how Genji is a mere afterthought. He hates how his mother treats him like a disposable thing and not her flesh and blood.

“He’s not,” he manages to ground out in an even tone of voice. “He helps me.”

“Is that so?” There isn’t the slightest attempt to mask her skepticism. “I often wonder if his proximity to you is doing more harm than good.”

“He’s staying with me,” Hanzo says, brooking no room for argument.

His mother sighs, but lets it go.

“Let yesterday be a reminder, Hanzo. Your rivals aren’t far behind you. You mustn’t become lax in your training. We expect you to be nothing less than the best. Do not let anyone, not even your brother, stand in the way of what really matters. You mustn’t fail us. Our family’s prosperity is in your hands.”

“I understand,” Hanzo bites out before hanging up.

He gives himself another ten minutes to lay there, attempting the breathing exercises he was given to try. He focuses on drawing slow, steady, measured breaths in, and releasing them unhurriedly. He does this until the cyclone in his stomach settles and his heart comes off the treadmill before he forces himself to get up and deliver the news to Satya and Genji.  


* * *

  
“What in the heck is this?” Jesse demands, slapping a paper down on Jack’s desk, who to his credit doesn’t so much as flinch.

“That’s the new schedule,” Jack replies, calmly peering up from his laptop and removing the red-tinted glasses his optometrist has him wearing to protect his eyes from computer screens. Looks downright ridiculous if you ask Jesse, but he knows Jack needs them. Old man’s been squinting a lot. “It even says so, right at the top. In bold letters. Are we done here?”

“Y’know damn well that isn’t what I mean,” Jesse shoots back, clenching his fists. It’s all he can do not to pound down on the desk to draw a reaction out of his dad. Fifteen years of being a foster parent made just about everything Jesse could think to throw at Jack roll off the man’s back.

“Everyone's been ravin’ about Alexandra, and y’got her down to two weight-lifting classes? Angela’s nutrition group is stuck in the afternoons. Ain’t no one coming for that. And does Gabe know he’s been slashed down to two classes a week, same as me?”

“Pretty sure I do, seeing how I made that schedule with Jackie,” Gabriel interjects, making Jesse’s eyes widen in disbelief as his other dad steps into the small office and closes the door behind himself.

“You’re in this too? _What the hell is going on?_ ” Jesse demands, knuckles turning white.

While Jack sighs, Gabriel’s eyes narrow. He shoots Jesse a look that could wither daffodils in the middle of a dewy spring day. 

“Lower your voice and sit down.” Gabriel nudges a chair towards Jesse with the toe of his boot. “We’ll explain as soon as you remember who you’re talking to here.”

Jesse slumps down in a chair, lips pursed and arms crossed. He knows he may have crossed a line, taking that tone of voice with them, but he hates when they leave him in the dark. He’s their son. He should know why their class schedule looks emptier than a church on Super Bowl Sunday.

“Look, Jesse. This isn’t what we wanted to do, but we had to do it.” Jack frowns grimly.

“Hate to pull the clichés out, but we got an offer we couldn’t refuse.” Gabriel perches on the edge of Jack’s desk, arms folded over his lap. “It’ll be two months of reduced classes, then we’ll be back to normal, with our books balanced.”

“It’s a small price to pay compared to the alternative...” Jack trails off, frowning down at an unopened envelope on his desk. The letterhead shows: _**Talon Construction Inc.**_ in sharp red ink.

Jesse knows the alternative: they lose the entire ballroom and the adjacent dance studios. The developers plow down a historic community space and, in its place, they build shitty luxury condos covered in adobe that no good folks can afford. Jesse huffs a breath and relaxes his fists. He knows they’ve been struggling to make ends meet recently but he didn’t know they were on the verge of losing everything.

“What’re we doing? Weddings? Bar Mitzvahs? Corporate-sponsored bullshit?” Jesse smiles mirthlessly. He leans back on the two back legs of the chair.

“It’s two professional dancers, actually.” Jack rises with a small grunt and stretches his arms high. It looks like he’s been up late again. Or maybe rising too early. He slings an arm over Gabriel’s shoulders, half-hugging and half-leaning against his husband. “They’ve been World Champions in ballroom dancing for three years straight. They’ll be here to train for this year’s championship.”

“And they’re getting full access,” Gabriel adds, sliding a supportive arm around Jack’s waist. “They’re paying to use a studio twenty-four seven, with the ballroom reserved twenty-one hours each week.”

Jesse whistles, mind racing through the math of what it must be costing them.

“I refused at first, but then they offered double the rate, with half up-front.”

“So, we’re gonna have a couple of filthy rich ballroom brats on our hands?” Jesse’s jaw sets. He’s never much liked people who think they can wave their money around and get whatever they want.

“ _A falta de pan, buenas son tortas_ ,” Gabriel reminds him, hitching a shoulder in a shrug.

“Yeah, yeah… _Lo sé, papá_.” They have no better options. He’s just going to have to suck it up and either avoid the ballroom dancers as best he can or turn his charm up to eleven.

“Y’all expecting me to explain this to everyone else?” Jesse asks as he gets back up, his spurs softly jangling.

“Nah, won’t throw you under the bus. Figured we’ll break the news over dinner tonight.” Gabriel grins; it’s a well known fact that he loves to cook and everyone loves to eat his food. “I’m going to force your dad to take a nap.” Jack does little more than grumble in half-hearted protest, which Gabriel easily ignores.

“Will you go round them up or shoot off a text? We’ll be expecting everyone over no later than seven.”

“Alright, see y’all at seven.”

Jesse gets a hug and his hair gets a ruffle before he’s on his way to rally the teachers together for supper at the Reyes-Morrison household.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Translations:**
> 
> _A falta de pan, buenas son tortas_ \- If there's no bread, cakes will do. (Make do with what you have. Beggars can’t be choosers.)
> 
>  _Lo sé, papá_ \- I know, dad.
> 
> * * *
> 
> They'll meet next week, I swear. Scout's honor.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long wait! ヾ(´ ▽ ` )
> 
> Life, uh, finds a way. To get in the way of writing. Hopefully a bit of a longer chapter makes up for it.
> 
> Thank you to [ReduxCath](http://archiveofourown.org/users/ReduxCath/profile) for helping beta. Any mistakes left are my own.

Hanzo spends much of the four and a half hour flight rewatching competition footage. There have been less sadistic ideas pitched in the boardroom of the Vishkar Corporation, Satya warns him, but Hanzo denies all accusations that he’s a masochist.

He needs to watch, compare, and remind himself: it was not by luck that they became World Champions. Hunching over his tablet, he starts with the oldest videos and steadily works his way up to the present. 

It takes less time than he cares to admit for his hand to move in front of his mouth, covering a grimace. Maybe, he begrudgingly admits, Satya was right. Maybe he’s a glutton for punishment.

Eventually, all the wincing and the grimacing draws his brother’s attention. Genji steals an earbud and leans in close to watch with him. Within seconds his brother is snickering uncontrollably. Only an icy stare from Hanzo gets him trying to muffle himself by biting down on his knuckles, but there’s no keeping Genji quiet.

His brother’s commentary includes: 

“I can’t believe you spiked your hair.”

“Bell-bottoms! Who let you wear those?”

“Mood: Hanzo’s eyeliner.”

“When were fingerless gloves a thing?”

“Cannot unsee fishnet turtleneck.”

Genji’s amusement fades away at the same time Hanzo’s stomach plummets when the cursor hovers over the most recent competition videos. Of course they are already up on YouTube. It has been less than twenty-four hours, yet each video boasts thousands of views and hundreds of comments. 

“Don’t you think it’s time we got a nap in?” Genji cuts in, snatching the iPad out of his hands before he can start reading the comment section of the International Latin Finals. The same division he and Satya got slapped with their third place trophy.

Mute to his protests, his brother succeeds in keeping his iPad hostage in his arms for a time, until he takes the flight attendant up on the offer for complimentary wine. Genji dozes off in short order, making it easy for Hanzo to slide the tablet out of his slack grasp.

“Hanzo.” Satya’s hand lands on his arm as he reopens YouTube. “I understand the need to watch and critique yourself, but doing this now, while the wound is still open-” She shakes her head. “It’s counterproductive.”

Hanzo knows she’s not wrong, but there’s also Akashi’s voice in the back of his mind, telling him he needs to swallow his pride and set aside his feelings. He needs to know his mistakes in order to avoid repeating them.

“Please, Satya. I need to do this.”

“What you need is rest, but please, carry on as you wish. Continue to ignore my advisement.” Satya rolls her eyes and turns away to the window, chin sinking into palm.

Hanzo huffs a breath and stuffs his earbuds on, tuning out the sounds of the airplane cabin with a soft, flowy waltz. The music should relax him, but he only feels on edge as he watches himself and Satya join hands on the small screen. They start off strong, with their lines precise, movements sharp, but there is nothing eye-catching as they begin their glide around the ballroom. Little sets them apart from the five other couples on the floor. Nothing makes them rise above the rest. His frame momentarily breaks around a corner. The lines begin to weaken as his endurance flags. A pivot is unbalanced, making Satya’s shoulders jerk rather than smoothly transition into place. And his face - the worst part is catching the close ups of his own face. Hanzo forces himself to meet the cold stare, the thin-pressed lips, and the severe line slashing his brow. 

_Where did his passion go? Where was the feeling?_

Hanzo locks the screen before it’s over, prompting Satya to shoot him a scrutinizing look. 

“Well?”

Hanzo lets out a deep, shaky sigh.

“I... need a drink.”

Satya is a true friend. There are no questions, no snide remarks, and no admonishments. She flags down a flight attendant and orders two red wines. 

Her lip curls when they are brought two plastic cups, but she shoves one into his hand without complaint. It will do. “I don’t believe in false optimism, but we’re going to get through this,” she states, clacking their cups together.

Hanzo hesitates before he takes a sip. “Promise me one thing?” he asks, gaze intent.

Satya pauses over her sip of wine. “I will consider, once I know what you want me to promise.”

“If I fail you, promise me you’ll find a new partner. You still have –”

“Absolutely not,” Satya cuts him off, nose turning up at the very thought. “There is, quite frankly, no one better suited to be my dance partner. Or I would have left you already.”

“You’re only saying that to make me feel better,” Hanzo mutters, leaning against her shoulder.

“I won’t stand to hear these false accusations from someone who owns a fishnet turtleneck.”

Hanzo huffs a defeated laugh and finishes his wine within a few sips. Before he knows it or has any power to stop it, he finds his eyes slipping closed. When they reopen, it’s because the plane jostles him awake with a shaky landing.

“We’re here!” Genji stage whispers excitedly, pointing out the window as Hanzo straightens up and surreptitiously wipes what is most certainly not drool off the corner off his mouth.

“What are we looking at?” Satya, nearest to the window, tilts her head.

“Nothing yet,” Hanzo answers flatly.

The airport is a lone beacon of civilization in an otherwise empty landscape. It’s written off as unimpressive to Hanzo until they’re in a dull orange rental car headed towards the address Akashi sent him. Genji rides shotgun with Satya at the wheel while Hanzo sits in the back. The scenery becomes more interesting the further away from the airport they travel. There are mountains in the distance and sloping hills covered in cactus galore. There are trees that look more like bushes, because they are wider than they are tall. Earthy shades of orange, red, and brown whizz past as they follow the windy road until small adobe houses start popping up.

It’s nothing like the suburban neighborhoods Hanzo is familiar with in Los Angeles. The homes are spread far apart, but there are no fences separating one from the other as far as he can tell. Backyards are either enclosed by low walls or simply borderless, left out to the openness that surrounds them. Hanzo doesn’t see a single apartment complex, nor any building higher than two stories. The adobe houses are only uniform in that they are boxy and square, with flat roofs and beams of wood purposefully poking out in ways that look more decorative than haphazard. What catches Hanzo’s eye are the contrasting colors. Vibrant blues and oranges, set against dusky shades of brown. 

He is absently gazing at a bright sky blue gate that contrasts nicely with tan adobe walls when Satya stops the car right after it.

“Is this it?” Hanzo asks, puzzled. He knows Santa Fe is small, but he doesn’t see any semblance of a city in sight nearby. It seems Akashi intends to remove all distractions by sticking them in the middle of a place that barely qualifies as the suburbs.

“This is the address according to Maps,” Satya announces with a note of finality, turning the engine off. 

“We get a whole house to ourselves?!” Genji crows with delight.

“Don’t get too attached,” Hanzo warns, but it’s mostly a mutter to himself because his brother is already out of the car, bounding (as best he can) through the gate. Only Satya hears him. She levels him with an undecipherable look in the rearview mirror.

It looks like she might admonish him, but thinks better of it before she shakes her head and follows Genji.

_She knows I’m right,_ Hanzo reasons, standing outside the car and gazing past the bright blue gate that’s hanging open.

Past it, he sees a pebbled garden filled with all but one unfamiliar plant. The cactus hanging by the stone-laid walkway looks like something out of a cartoon. A prickly arm hangs out dangerously close to the path. Hanzo gives it a wide berth when it is left to him to unload their luggage from the trunk.

Hanzo leaves everything by the front door and steps out of his sneakers when he hears Genji call out, “There are two bathrooms!” 

Certainly a welcome change from the one bathroom he and Genji shared in Los Angeles.

Satya’s voice carries in from one of the bedrooms: “I don’t care how long we’re here. The carpet needs to be burned and replaced. Preferably with something that doesn’t look like it’s been alive since the 70s.”

Hanzo is contemplating whether it’s worth reading over the lease agreement to verify how much they can change about the house when Genji takes the opposite position on the carpet. “I don’t mind it. The color’s awful, but it’s really soft. It feels like walking on teddy bears.”

“It’s unsightly and unsanitary,” Satya shoots back.

Hanzo inwardly groans and pinches the bridge of his nose. It’s no wonder he keeps finding silvery strands of grey in his hairbrush. 

“Genji, you’re forbidden from sleeping on the floor.”

“But what if–”

“No buts.”

“You’re not my dad, Fishnets!” The door slams shut, but what little if any guilt evaporates when he hears Genji muffled laughter filtering through the walls.

That leaves his dance partner standing in the doorway, arms folded, lips pressed in a frown. She is still wearing her shoes, which makes Hanzo frown back at her. 

“We’ll find a rug to cover it,” Hanzo offers by way of solution.

“Tonight.”

“Wear your socks and slippers tonight. We’ll find something tomorrow.”

“I’m holding you to your word,” she pauses, before adding with a small smirk, “Fishnets.”

The door doesn’t slam in his face to form complete solidarity with Genji, but the name is enough to draw a resigned sigh out of Hanzo as Satya brushes past him in the hallway. It’s going to become a thing. He just knows it.

“They were _in_ that year,” Hanzo mutters to himself as he pushes on to explore the unclaimed bedroom.

There is a small bed, a plain dresser, and a window whose view is entirely taken up by a cactus. All the bare necessities. It’s not much, but he knows he won’t need more. All of it is temporary. Hanzo grimaces down at the shaggy mustard yellow carpet between his toes. It’s hideous, but he’ll grant that Genji is right - despite the garish color, it’s remarkably soft.

Hanzo doubles back to take stock of the rest of the house. There is a small table that seats four in the dining room. He finds a beige couch flanking the fireplace in the living room. There’s an enclosed backyard, but Hanzo notes nothing but a sad raised garden bed filled with shoots of yellow weeds. The cupboards in the kitchen have cooking utensils and a set of ceramic plates and bowls, but the fridge is empty and Genji makes it loudly known that he doesn’t know what to be more upset about - the lack of a flat screen television or the fact that they have no rice cooker. They all agree that the problem needs to be remedied immediately.

It is Satya who suggests the brothers go shopping while she sets up the wi-fi.

Genji is all for it. He grabs the car keys before Hanzo can think of an excuse to swap spots with Satya. The last place he wants to be is behind the wheel with Genji in the passenger’s seat, but his brother is smiling and twirling the keyring around his finger like he never relives the same nightmare Hanzo revisits on a daily basis. 

“Anija, my legs feel fine,” he says, anticipating Hanzo’s protest. “I can drive if you want.”

Hanzo only finds the fortitude to speak when they’re in the car, buckled in. “If anything starts to hurt...” He trails off, the words become uncooperative, sticking in his throat.

“Yeah, yeah. We’ll swap spots.” Genji’s tone is flippant, dismissive. Hanzo gets the distinct feeling that his brother is going to be whining about his aching legs later that evening, but he doesn’t push it. 

This is fine, he tells himself as Genji starts the car. They are fine, he tells himself when the car jerks forward. Everything is fine, he reiterates as Genji becomes familiar with how the rickety rental car drives.

“Oh! Where is it?” Genji laughs, suddenly remembering that he’s in the middle of nowhere and has no idea where he is going. They are driving down a road with no cars in sight either in front or behind them. Genji takes his foot off the accelerator and drifts. “You be the navigator. Take me there, Scotty.”

“It’s beam me up, Scotty.”

“Roger roger, Captain Obi Kenobi.”

“Why are you like this.”

Hanzo’s exasperation is part of the battle he’s losing against the urge to smile. He doesn’t know who to roll his eyes at - his brother for his antics or himself for finding them amusing, but he’s not on the edge of his seat anymore, one app away from ordering for a grocery delivery.

Hanzo pulls out his phone and finds the nearest market. Five point two miles away. There was a specialty import grocer and two grocery chains within walking distance from his apartment in Los Angeles. Hanzo shoves the thought away before it can take root. Now’s not the time to acknowledge the homesickness creeping in, crowding the anxiety and self-loathing.

He stares down at his phone and draws in a steadying breath.

“Anija?” Genji must be looking over at him, wondering why he’s taking so long to do something so simple, but Hanzo continues grasping for his center.

His brother is driving them to the grocery store. They are, allegedly, in Santa Fe, New Mexico. He will spend the next two months training here with Satya. They will be ready for the Championships. He will not fail again.

“Take the next right.”

* * *

“ _[Oh Hannah Brown from way cross town, gets full of coin and starts breaking 'em down.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=K19BW-tM904)_ ”

“Lookin’ good!” Jesse grins, watching his students complete their double tuck-turn sequence into crossovers. There might be a few rough edges to smooth out, but he’s proud of what he sees. They’ve come far. A month ago everyone was struggling with triple steps and now here they are: connecting moves together without needing him there to count them through every step.

“Let’s high five ‘n change partners!” The ballroom is filled with smiles and the clap of palms as Jesse lowers the music. He allows them time for chatter while he makes his way back to the center of the circle. Jesse rarely has his students shushed for his sake if he can help it. He lets the conversations naturally peter out before he addresses the class. 

“Awright, take a look’n’listen. Only one thing I wanna see more of besides your smilin’ faces, is this.” 

Knees soft and bent, Jesse begins bouncing in place on the balls of his feet. “Remember our ol’ friend, pulsing?”

“Ah, I’m not as young as I used to be. I forgot all about that!” Even when he’s trying to be quiet, there’s no one this side of the Mississippi Delta that’s louder than Reinhardt. The acoustics of the ballroom certainly do him no favors.

“Don’t beat yourself up, dear.” Ana gives her partner’s massive arm a gentle pat. “You’re not the only one.”

“Welp, here’s your refresher. We use this t’ keep the rhythm in our bodies. Helps when you fall off the beat. Try it with me now, yeah? Let’s get a feel for this on our own first before we bring back the partner part. I’ll count ya in… five, six - five, six, seven, eight.”

The counting dissolves into an improvised tune. It’s more a poor imitation of Ella Fitzgerald’s scatting than words or humming, but it does the trick. His students separate and begin bouncing along to the beat.

“Alright, now, keep this goin’ and partner up again. Let’s see what your dancin’ feels like now that you’ve got this rhythm in your pocket.” 

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Gabe walk in, guiding a group of three. Ain’t no one he’s seen before. No, he’d recognize these three – 

A beautiful woman, a slender green-haired man, and a fine specimen of a man who has his broad shoulders perfectly squared. 

Seeing the literal likeness of a stick up someone’s ass might’ve been something to slap his knee laughing about, only the fella’s sharp gaze falls on him and Jesse momentarily forgets his left from his right and ends up losing his balance. Only by the grace of every saint Jesse swears to does he manage to avoid tripping over his own feet.

Of course, no saint can make his students unsee their swing dance teacher’s blunder. Some have the courtesy to smother their snickering, others (see: Fareeha and Sombra) are openly laughing, but Reinhardt bless his heart rushes right over and claps a hand down on his shoulder. 

“JESSE! It looked like you were about to faint on us. Are you alright? Does Ana need to look you over?” 

“Rein-” Jesse winces, trying to pry the hand off. His shoulder feels like it’s being crushed and he’s only got so much of his left arm remaining to spare.

“Sorry!” When the gentle giant realizes why his face is screwed up in pain, he immediately lets go, the portrait of contrite. “Did I make it worse?”

“Ain’t nothin’ -” Jesse rubs his shoulder, shaking his head. “A little clumsy moment is all you saw there. I’ll be right as Sassafras in no time.”

“If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were distracted,” Ana points out. Mercifully no one else seems to hear her over the chatting that’s picked up while Rein fusses. She’s content to shoot him one of those unreadable looks before she takes Reinhardt’s hand and guides him back into a closed dance position.

She’s right, of course. Nothing gets past Ana Amari. 

Jesse’s attention sheepishly returns with its tail between its legs. He’s got a class to wrap up, preferably without becoming intimately acquainted with the floor in front of his students. There’s no time to stand and gawk at the model-like men and the beautiful woman that Gabe brings around to the stage. 

“That’s all we’re coverin’ today, folks.” Jesse’s met with a mixture of reactions, from relief to disappointment. “Feel free to use this last song to practice everything we’ve covered and give each other feedback. Mind that you keep it constructive, and let me know if you’ve got any questions. I’m here t’ help.”

Jesse hightails it over to the sound system, starting up the final song on his playlist. _Everybody Eats When They Come to My House_ is a medium tempo song by Cab Calloway and His Orchestra. The upbeat, silly lyrics are a nice way of sending his students off in good spirits.

He leans back against the wall and watches for a moment. He studies each couple on the floor, trying to catch an opportunity to make himself useful. Winston isn’t looking down at his feet as much. Sombra is pulsing like a champ. Reinhardt’s footwork doesn’t sound like someone’s banging a hammer around the ballroom. Ana looks like she’s floating on air. Heck, even Torbjörn is smiling now that Jesse helped him find a better way to spin his wife, Linnea.

Seeing no reason to interject himself where he isn’t needed, it doesn’t take long for Jesse’s focus to drift back to their visitors. Must be the Ballroom Brats. They don’t look old enough to be investors and they lack the clipboards to be grant auditors. Nah. The three of them looked like they walked straight out of some high fashion magazine. 

Were they expecting them so soon? Jesse can’t remember Jack saying when they would arrive, but he thought he’d get a couple of days before he had to go pretending that he liked any part of the arrangement. He might’ve worn a better shirt or less frayed jeans had he known. As it is, he’s wearing a shirt that threatens to become a crop top when he raises his arms high. Jesse refuses to acknowledge he’s grown out of his favorite thrift store find.

It’s pastel pink with a pepperoni pizza print and it says, ‘Will Dance for Food.’

Where else can he find a shirt like that? It’s one of a kind. Priceless.

On the other side of the room, his dad nods his way. Jesse waves back, hoping that’ll be all, but Gabe motions him over.

_Aw heck,_ Jesse grumbles to himself but plasters on a smile. 

When Jesse reaches the little cluster the four forms in front of the stage, he catches the end of his father’s spiel. “Still needs some work, but we’ve come a long ways since it first came into our hands.” No doubt Gabe is pointing out parts of the restoration project that have been completed. 

It’s a point of pride for all of them working hard to keep the Castillo Community Center preserved.

“And this is who I’ve been waiting to introduce you all to - my son, Jesse,” Gabe says, giving him a helpful little nudge forward. “Jesse, these are our new guests. Satya, Genji, and Hanzo.”

“Pleasure t’ meet y’all,” Jesse says, tipping his hat.

“Pleased to make your acquaintance.” Satya merely inclines her head in a small nod.

“Yo! You’re a great teacher. Do you have room for more students?” Genji is grinning as he sticks his hand out. Jesse gladly accepts the handshake, even if it’s enthusiastic enough to rattle his bones. 

“Thank ya kindly for saying so. New session starts next week if you’d care t’join us.”

“Genji already knows East Coast Swing,” Hanzo says in lieu of a greeting, and unsurprisingly, no handshake is offered. “He’s being facetious.”

“No! I really want to learn this,” Genji protests, gesturing to the couples dancing.

“I guess it’s a good thing I teach Lindy Hop,” Jesse replies mildly. There’s few things he resents more than having to explain the differences between East Coast Swing, West Coast Swing, Jitterbug, and Lindy Hop. Especially when it’s a ballroom dancer contending they’re all the same dance. “East Coast Swing is only a small part of Lindy.”

“See, it’s different.” Genji looks triumphant while Hanzo huffs a breath and frowns. 

“As I was saying-” His dad throws a look around, as if challenging anyone to interrupt or go off on another tangent.

“Jesse’s another teacher, but he also helps Jack and I run the place,” Gabe continues when no one dares to cut in. “If you need something, but can’t find us, he’ll be your best bet. His number is on your contact sheet.”

Hanzo folds his arms. Arms that have no right being that muscular on a ballroom dancer. Jesse swears he only notices because he can’t remember seeing any ballroom aerials. Only dips that require the follower to bear most of their own weight despite making it appear like the leader is doing all the work. 

“We have no intention of requiring assistance,” Hanzo states curtly. “Our hope is to stay out of your way.”

“Little late for that.” Jesse knows the moment the muttered words leave his mouth, he’s in trouble.

Gabe doesn’t need to say anything. The look on his face is enough to make Jesse bite his tongue. He doesn’t know why Hanzo makes his blood boil, only that he does and he can’t be liable for what he says.

“Think what my son means to say is we’re happy to have you here, training with us.” Gabe throws an arm around Jesse’s shoulder. The little squeeze is gentle compared to Reinhardt’s grip, but it communicates a promise. He’ll be getting an earful later.

“Sure, it’d make my life a lot easier if we could hand you the keys and send you on your way, but I want to be completely transparent. This is an old building.” Gabe gestures widely to the ballroom. “Most of what you’ll see here was built in the forties. We try to restore and repair before we replace anything here. If something doesn’t seem right, we’d like to know. Whether it’s a window refusing to budge open or a clogged toilet, we’re here to fix it.” 

“We prefer making the repairs ourselves if we can help it,” Jesse supplies. “We can’t afford to hire contractors for everything.”

“Ah.” Hanzo manages to look even more unimpressed. “So long as the floor isn’t going to cave in on us, that shouldn’t be an issue.”

Jesse lets out a mirthless bark of laughter. “This floor’s weathered a lot more than the likes of you, sugar.”

“I can see that,” Hanzo replies dryly, eyes locked on him.

Only Gabe’s hand clamping down on his shoulder tighter keeps Jesse from rising to the bait.

“We understand.” It is Satya who tries to act as a diplomat on the other side. She places a hand on Hanzo’s arm. “Such a historic site requires delicate maintenance. I shall report any imperfections of consequence that we come across,” she assures them.

Gabe nods, satisfied. “Good.”

Probably sensing he needs to separate Jesse from Hanzo before their ballroom becomes a boxing arena, Gabe jabs his thumb over at the double doors leading back to the adjoining building. “I don’t want to waste any more of your time. Or mine. Let me show you the smaller studio spaces, then I’ll leave you to it.”

Satya keeps her hand on Hanzo’s arm as Gabe leads them away, but Genji lingers behind.

“Sorry about my brother,” he stage whispers to Jesse.

“Yer brothers?” Punctured by surprise, Jesse’s bubble of anger deflates a little. “Didn’ realize.”

“What? You can’t see the resemblance?” Genji mocks offense.

“Well, I guess you two caterwaul at each other like brothers,” Jesse allows, scrubbing his jaw, “but you’re all smiley and he’s Mister Frowntown.”

“ _Caterwaul?_ ” Genji is in stitches, only proving his point about them being so different. When his amusement subsides, he shakes his head. “But seriously. Hanzo’s not always a grump. He takes a while to warm up to - well - everyone. Don’t take it personally.”

“I’m not.” The reply is shot back without a moment’s hesitation. There’s no time to remove the steel in his voice. Genji merely raises an eyebrow. 

Jesse sighs. “Look - you seem nice enough, but I can’t tolerate someone who comes in here, actin’ like he owns the place, even though it ain’t good enough for him.” His jaw clenches and unclenches. “This is a community center. Not his personal training studio. Should’ve bought out the Arthur Murray down the street if that’s what they wanted.”

“I know that this doesn’t excuse my brother’s attitude, but we didn’t really have a choice. This is all a sudden change, and he doesn’t handle those well.” Genji shakes his head. “I can’t go into it right now - but I hope you’ll give him the chance to redeem himself. Even if we’re only here for two months, I’d like for us to be friends. All of us.”

Jesse laughs from the belly.

He and Hanzo, friends?

“Might have better luck getting a lasso around the moon, but alright.” Jesse hitches his shoulders in a shrug. He doesn’t have anything to lose by agreeing to give Hanzo a second chance. “I won’t completely rule it out.”

“Thank you.” Genji smiles, relief blossoming across his face. “I should get going. Can’t miss the rest of the tour. See you later, Jesse!” He waves before he takes off to catch up with the others.

Jesse almost doesn’t notice the green-haired man’s slight limp before he leaves his line of sight. It’s nearly imperceptible, but he’s been watching too much footwork not to notice it.

“Huh.”

“Looks like things are about to get very interesting around here,” Ana says, suddenly appearing at his side and drawing Jesse out of his thoughts. She has a way of making herself present when it serves her best. Jesse likes to joke that she’s retired special-ops, but sometimes he’s not sure how far from the truth it is. 

“What? We’re not interestin’ enough for you?” Jesse clutches his chest, feigning injury.

“My dear, I haven’t seen anyone look at you like that since I witnessed Gabe and Jack meet for the first time.” 

“What! No, it ain’t like that-!” Jesse sputters, face reddening. Not because it’s _true_. It’s more absurd than cows tap dancing!

Ana reaches up and gives his cheek a fond pat. “See you at the dance on Friday,” she replies before leaving to say goodbye to the rest of his dispersing class.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! (ﾉ´ヮ`)ﾉ*: ･ﾟ
> 
> Please note that while I originally wanted to keep this updated weekly, new (exciting) commitments have come along! For example, I joined a swing dance performance troupe!! So my goal will be to update once a month at least.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day one of training begins with no shortage of drama for Hanzo.

Hanzo awakes before the sun rises. The room around him is dark and unfamiliar. He has to remember to reach left instead of right for his phone on the bedside table to check the time.

5:37 AM.

Five hours of sleep.

Hanzo stares up at the ceiling, watching the pre-dawn light trickle in. He knows that five hours hardly qualifies as a good night’s rest, but he can't mute his thoughts long enough to go back to sleep.

Today he and Satya will begin their first day of training at the Castillo Ballroom.

He's not even sure where to begin.

His form?

Flow of movement?

Partner connection?

Musicality?

It’s too much, laying there and letting his thoughts surge over him. Hanzo gets up and feels like less of a zombie after he washes his face. He grabs a pre-made protein shake (it is a disconcerting shade of green despite Genji’s assurances), chugs it down with a grimace, and laces up his sneakers.

No one else has stirred yet. He closes the bright blue gate quietly before taking off at a jog to warm up.

There are no sidewalks in their neighborhood. The only thing paved are the roads, which are gravelly, unmarked, and almost empty save for the occasional car that passes him. At least they give him a wide berth. 

It is added to the short list of things that Hanzo likes about Santa Fe.

The list of things he doesn’t like is longer and possibly growing by the minute. He soon finds another thing to add to it when his skin becomes sticky with sweat. Hanzo lifts his white shirt to mop his brow and it comes away brownish red. The red dust is everywhere.

The quiet is another new thing. Hanzo finds it troubling rather than peaceful. Without a city yelling with life, there’s no background noise. He has nothing to drown out his thoughts. Hanzo mind drifts between his abysmal performance, to the rugs he promised Satya, and begrudgingly settles on the people he will have to interact with at the Castillo Ballroom. Namely the swing dance instructor.

No one who wears a tacky pink shirt one size too small for them deserves to be that good looking, and what was his _problem?_

Hanzo knows he doesn’t make a great first impression, but he’s only ever felt an itch to trade blows with someone within the first five minutes of meeting them once in his life. One of Genji’s ex-boyfriends. Hanzo does not remember Bradley fondly - no, not after he had threatened to sell some explicit photographs of Genji to the highest bidder if he wasn’t paid more than what the tabloids were offering.

He doesn’t think Jesse is a bad person – he’s certainly not another blue-eyed Bradley. His passion for teaching had been more than evident from the short period of time they spent watching him. His students clearly adored him.

Whatever his reasons for giving them a less than enthusiastic welcome, Jesse seems like a man he could respect if he got to know him better.

Hanzo sighs as he remembers himself. What does it matter? He knows nothing of Jesse, and he intends to keep it that way. They are merely his fathers’ unwanted guests for the next two months. After the championships, they’ll be gone.

By the time he’s back from his run, Satya is sitting at the table reading the news on her tablet over a cup of tea. 

“Genji wants to have a meeting after you shower. He looked quite serious,” she says by way of warning as he toes off his sneakers at the door.

“Did he say what for?” Hanzo asks warily.

“He wouldn’t say.” Satya doesn’t look up from her screen, but there’s a knowing smile on her face that Hanzo’s come to recognize and dread.

“What do you want, a meeting agenda?” Genji asks as he comes out of the bathroom, a neon green hair towel wrapped around his head. “Just go shower! We’ll talk after you’re done smelling like a barn.”

“If this is about -”

“Nope,” Genji cuts him off, “completely unrelated.”

“You didn’t even let me say what I think this is about.”

“We’ll talk about your inability to make a good first impression later, brother.” Rolling his eyes, Genji gives Hanzo a helpful shove down the hallway in the direction of the bathroom. “Shower, please. My nostrils are dying.”

Hanzo huffs a breath but relents, Satya’s chuckles nipping at his heels before he dramatically shuts the bathroom door. He takes a fast shower and dresses quickly. Genji’s tea is still steaming hot when Hanzo sits down at the table. His hair is also still wet, but Hanzo doesn’t care. He’ll tie it up out of the way later.

“Well?” Hanzo prompts, arms folding.

“I want to discuss my role in -” Genji gestures between him and Satya, “this.”

“Please clarify,” Satya says and Hanzo is confident this is all premeditated because he doesn’t see her raise so much as an eyebrow.

“Like, what am I doing here? I don’t have a purpose. I’m tired of watching from the sidelines as your glorified cheerleader.”

Hanzo is suckerpunched with guilt and tries offering, “You could be training yourself, reconditioning for the next season.”

Genji shakes his head, and with all traces of mirth wiped from his face.

“That ship has sailed, brother.”

“You only _think_ it has.” Hanzo’s jaw clenches and unclenches in the same breath when Satya’s hand covers his fisted hand.

“Why don’t you hear him out?” she suggests. “Nothing can be lost from listening.”

It’s knowing how dangerously close he is to sounding like Mother that makes Hanzo nod mutely and unknot his clamped fingers.

“I could go get a boring temp job somewhere, but I’ve been thinking…” Genji bites his lip, and Hanzo’s brow furrows. He’s seldom seen his brother look nervous.  
Hanzo braces himself for something ludicrous –

“I could be more useful as your coach. Who’s better qualified than me?”

He blinks owlishly when Genji fails to meet expectations.

“So, you want to be able to boss us around legitimately?” Satya raises a perfectly arched eyebrow.

“That’s an excellent way of putting it!” Genji grins. 

The tension cracks. Hanzo huffs a laugh. “You’re joking. Very funny.”

“I mean it - I’m serious,” he adds, sobering up. “After watching some of those videos with Hanzo–” Here is where Hanzo’s fledgling amusement shrivels up and dies, earning a gentle pat on the shoulder from Genji before he soldiers on. “I want to help. You could both benefit from a fresh perspective.”

Humming in thought, Satya turns to Hanzo. “Well?”

Hanzo has seen Akashi negotiate enough times to know the precise length of time he needs to pause and look unimpressed before he replies, “I’m willing to give him a trial run.”

“A week?” Satya suggests, and Hanzo nods. 

“That should be sufficient time to determine if he’s capable of keeping a job for longer than two days.”

“It’s not my fault the elders dragged me out of that host club!” Genji pouts.

“You tried to work for a host club?” Satya is beside herself, which means she is smiling behind the rim of her tea cup.

“He did.”

“Okay, enough. No more dwelling on my sordid past.” Genji slaps a hand down on the table. “Starting today, I’m your coach, and we’ve already wasted enough time with this idle chit chat.”

“The authority is already going to his head.”

* * *

“Oh! Excuse me?”

The voice that calls out is tentative. Hanzo might’ve gotten away with ignoring it and ducking back into the studio, but he turns around. A bespectacled woman wearing a puffy coat stares back at him. It’s mid-September. Even if autumn is nearly upon them, he doesn’t know how she’s not boiling alive.

“Yes?”

“Are you Hanzo Shimada?”

“Yes…” Hanzo answers uncertainly, briefly wondering whether he should have lied when the woman’s face practically lights up. A nervous laugh bubbles out of her.

“Sorry, I actually knew who you were.” Smiling sheepishly, the woman walks up to him. “It’s just really weird going up to someone you already know when they don’t know who you are,” she goes on, before sticking out a hand. “I’m Mei. My girlfriend teaches some classes here.”

Hanzo pauses a beat before he accepts the handshake. The woman - Mei - is wearing a mitten. “Nice to meet you.” He knows he should find a way to politely excuse himself and return to the studio, but he’s curious. “Did the owners tell you who I am..?”

“Well...” Mei’s cheeks begin to redden and Hanzo inwardly braces himself. Had his horrible performance gone viral? Was his failure splashed across social media? Did Lacroix start trending #SecondBestShimada?

“Actually, I already knew who you were before they told everyone,” Mei soldiers on, covering her cheeks with her mittened hands. “My labmate showed me some videos of you and Satya dancing. You’re the reason why I left the lab to try my first ballroom class. I saw you both and I had to try it!”

“Oh-” Hanzo’s face begins to burn but he finds himself smiling despite the insistent urge to deny that his dancing couldn’t possibly inspire anyone to dance. She seems too sincere to be pulling one over him.

“If it wasn’t for you, I never would’ve met my girlfriend.”

“Is that right?” A smooth voice cuts in, jerking Hanzo’s attention away from the woman and her romantic story. “Y’never told me that, Mei.” 

Jesse has his arms full with rolls of yoga mats, but he doesn’t continue on his way or seem bothered by the fact that he’s just walked in on their conversation. Hanzo’s smile tanks.

“It’s true.” Mei’s head bobs up and down earnestly. “If I hadn’t come here to learn ballroom, I never would have met Aleksandra.”

“Now I’ve gotta see those videos.”

“Let me pull one up!” A phone is dug out of Mei’s pocket, but Hanzo is too busy fighting the desire to smack it out of her hands to be amazed that she manages to use it without plucking her mittens off. “We can watch the most recent…”

Hanzo knows they’re both talking, mostly between themselves, and maybe to him, but his mind willfully drowns out their voices. His face can’t withstand more heat. The thought of the stupidly handsome cowboy watching him and laughing at him right there is too much.

“Please excuse me.” Hanzo can’t look either of them in the eye. “My coach will do something dramatic like call the police if I don’t return soon. It was nice to meet you, Mei.”

With a stiff nod, Hanzo retreats back to the studio as quickly as possible without looking like he’s deliberately fleeing. Even if that’s exactly what he’s doing. The last thing he wants to hear is Jesse’s reaction and he’s not entirely exaggerating about Genji. He’s been gone longer than a small bathroom break should take.

Hanzo takes a moment to marshall his features back to something neutral before he steps back into the room and pointedly ignores the questioning look Satya shoots him.

After Genji is finished giving him a hard time for taking an extraordinarily long break, they pick up where they left off and Hanzo pours all his focus into the drills. Yet no matter how hard he concentrates, his mind keeps slipping back to the image of Mei and Jesse crowded around a phone, laughing together.

* * *

It’s not unusual for Hanzo to be the last to leave the dance studio. Genji and Satya make a valiant effort to drag him out for dinner, but Hanzo is stubborn. They compromise: they will get him something to-go and in return he has to leave with them on their way back to the house.

Every muscle aches and his clothes are damp from sweat, which is justification enough for Hanzo to stay and stretch. He flows between well-practiced yoga poses: downward dog, cobra, child, pigeon, and finally settles into a warrior pose with his eyes closed. He breathes slow and heavy, allowing peace and Bruno Mars to flow through him.

It’s no surprise that Hanzo doesn’t hear a knock at the door and then it opening. Only when the music lowers does Hanzo open his eyes and startle at the sight of Jesse by the sound system.

“Y’mind if I crank this down a bit?” Jesse asks. 

“Why ask if you already did?” Hanzo points out tersely.

“Well, seein’ how you couldn’t hear me, I figured it was better to ask for forgiveness than permission.”

Hanzo concedes the point with a small grunt and lowers to the floor, legs crossed and palms on his knees. He expects Jesse to leave, but the man crosses over and stands in front of him, thumbs casually tucked in his belt loops.

“Y’know, you didn’t hafta run off like that earlier.”

Hanzo says nothing. Denying it would make him more transparent than a window pane. He lets his frown speak for him.

“Watchin’ right in front of you wasn’t polite in hindsight, but I was dyin’ to see you in action,” Jesse admits, unfazed. “I can see why Mei was inspired. You and Satya are real good… Never thought much of ballroom dancin’ until I saw y’all floating across the screen.”

Hanzo can’t detect any condescension or deceit in Jesse’s voice. He sounds one hundred percent genuine. Yet Hanzo’s jaw is clenched, every muscle drawn taut, and he wants Jesse to stop talking. Right. Now.

“Yes. I know. We didn’t win three world championships in a row by chance.” 

Not the reply Jesse was expecting if the dumbfounded look on his face is anything to go by, Hanzo notes with bitter satisfaction.

“Right.” Something immediately shutters and Jesse’s smile is hollow. Hanzo tells himself it’s exactly what he wanted. “I guess you don’t need me tellin’ you that, do you?”

Hanzo snorts in derision. “I already have a brother to point out the obvious to me.”

“Awright, I can take a hint.” The casual stance Jesse had assumed drops. He unhooks his thumbs from his belt loops and tips his hat. “Just turn off the lights before y’leave, yeah? I’ll be around to lock up.”

Hanzo nods and reluctantly tracks the man’s departure through his reflection in the mirror. He should feel satisfied. He got exactly what he wanted. Jesse won’t try to be _chummy_ with him any longer and the message will no doubt spread to the rest of the ballroom staff that the older Shimada is best avoided.

Yet Hanzo feels nothing but empty as he turns the music volume up and closes his eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahahah. I'm back on my bullshit. (^▽^;)


	5. Chapter 5

Sweat rolls down Jesse’s brow in small rivulets, stinging the corners of his eyes. Each breath is panted out, short and hot. There's music playing in the background, but all he can hear is his thudding heart in his ears as he shifts his weight from foot to foot, each uppercut and punch swinging the lumpy bag in front of him back and forth like an erratic pendulum. 

Finally Gabe walks over and holds the punching bag in place. The man's weight gives his fists something to sink into. Each blow lands more satisfying than the last. Jesse's lost in a volley until Gabe sighs and pulls the bag out of his way.

“Alright. That’s enough, hijo. Your form is getting sloppy.”

“Wasn't done yet,” Jesse grits out, catching the dry towel that his dad throws at his face in the knick of time.

“We’re decommissioning these old bags soon, but I need them to last a few more weeks. Can't do that with you in here like this every day. What's going on, Jesse?”

“S’only been three days.” Jesse mops the sweat off his brow and begins unwrapping the bandages around his knuckles.

“Four,” Gabe corrects without missing a beat, but the hard gaze is broken when he sees Jesse's bloody knuckles. The man sighs and saunters over to grab the first-aid kit.

“I told you, I was out…” Jesse begins weakly, but his dad cuts him off.

“Jack might believe you were out late the other night having a drink, but I don't buy that bullshit.” Gabe’s gaze narrows, challenging him to act against the notion that his dad can see right through him. “The alarms weren't set until two in the morning and I know you're not that careless.”

Jesse winces but remains still as Gabe dabs his scrapes clean with a cotton ball and some rubbing alcohol. The sting draws a low hiss through his teeth. This is what he gets for not letting the last wounds heal over.

“I just - I need to blow off some steam. That's all.”

“Dont make me ask again, hijo.”

All Gabe needs to do is shoot him another look and Jesse caves.

“Look, I’m tryin’ my best to get along with Shimada, but that man’s makin’ a sport outta throwing every nice gesture back in my face. I try complimenting him, he says I’m pointin’ out the obvious. Everytime I smile at him, he glares back at me. Heaven forbid I even hold a door open for him! He’ll just stop and stare at me before turning around and walkin’ the other way. Killing with kindness ain’t killing anyone but me.”

The pettiness of it all isn't lost on Jesse, but he still feels like he's been dealt a blow when Gabriel shakes his head and laughs.

“Y’see?” Jesse snatches the tube of antiseptic cream and pulls away, huffing a breath. “This is why I didn't want to tell you.”

“No, no… it's not that I think you're getting upset over nothing, Jesse.”

Unconvinced, Jesse continues glaring.

“I’ve been on the other side of this. With Jack. I was a kinda an asshole.”

Jesse raises an eyebrow.

“Okay, I was an asshole. I thought Jack was some boy scout who brown-nosed his way through the ranks. In my head, he was trying to befriend me because he wanted to use me to climb higher. When I realized he was actually a good guy, I got even more pissed off that I was wrong about him.”

“Yeah, I’ve only heard this story about a thousand times.” Jesse rolls his eyes. “I know how it goes. When he finally gave up trying to be friends with you, you realized you missed him. Then y’punched the daylights outta some prick giving dad a hard time and lived happily ever after.”

“And no part of that story seems similar to what you’re going through now?” It’s his dad’s turn to raise the eyebrow, only he's much more effective at showing skepticism.

“It ain't like that between us.” Jesse tosses the towel back at Gabriel, who catches it deftly, and chucks it at the hamper like a hot potato the moment he feels how sweat-soaked it is. 

“No?”

“He’s an asshole who sees me as beneath him. You were an asshole because you thought Jack was using you.”

Gabriel sighs. “What I never told you was that I was an asshole because I didn't have enough confidence in myself. I couldn’t believe anyone would want to be my friend… and I was afraid of having friends, because that’d just mean more people there are to lose.”

“Pa, I understand you’re tryin’ to help, but you ain't seen him talk about how he's the Ballroom Champ.” Jesse’s jaw clenches. “Maybe he respects you because you’re the owner, but me? I’m just some low-life handyman that teaches a dance that ain’t worth his time.”

“Tell you what.. I’ve got an idea.” Gabriel claps a hand on Jesse’s shoulder and steers him out of the training room. Jesse’s been in the man’s care long enough to trust the dread pooling in his stomach.

He’s mighty tempted to ask Aleksandra for help, but the weightlighter is in the middle of a set of clean sweeps, earbuds blasting eighties power metal. She flashes him a smile on their way out, unaware that his father is about to rope him against a hornet’s nest.

“First, I’ll give you a fair chance to say no. I’ve been an asshole longer than you’ve been standing on this earth’s crust.” 

A laugh is startled out of Jesse. “Your point?”

“Hanzo’s problem isn’t you. It’s himself. You prove me wrong, and I’ll do the one thing I’ve said I’ll never do in public. If I’m right, I reserve the right to collect a favor anytime in the future, no questions asked.”

His father sticks a hand out, waiting for him to seal the deal.

“I dunno… odds seem in my favor on this one, jefe.” Jesse grins, folding his arms, giving his dad a fair chance to back out. “Maybe it’s you who needs a chance to reconsider.”

“Who taught you to be so damn stubborn?”

Jesse shakes on it with a huff of laughter, and that’s that.

* * *

Quick and easy.

Jesse expects it will take little effort on his end to prove his dad’s got it all wrong about Hanzo, but he’s willing to put in the work.

He’s learned their guests’ schedule well enough to know that when Satya and Genji leave the ballroom, Hanzo stays behind and continues practicing on his own. 

For the past week he and Hanzo have been the last to leave the building. Jesse might be tempted to teasingly offer installing a cot in one of the broom closets if he wasn’t sure Hanzo would take him up on it. Shaking his head with a chuckle, he finds the only studio left with a light on and leans against the doorframe for a moment.

Hanzo is practicing some flowy waltz footwork with a broomstick in his arms. He doesn’t notice Jesse watching him, too absorbed in the task of keeping his frame up as he whirls around the floor in counts of four. There’s no music on, but he can hear a faint melodic humming. It’s similar to what he does to keep time for his students when he wants them to stop holding onto the training wheels of counting and start listening to the music.

Hanzo looks every bit the Ballroom Champion he is until Jesse saunters in, spray bottle in one hand and a clean rag slung over his shoulder. The humming stops and his flow disintegrates in an abrupt halt. 

“Howdy,” Jesse greets cheerily, refusing to let Hanzo’s answering frown deter him.

“What is it?” Hanzo asks by way of greeting, pausing and lowering the broomstick. Jesse never thought much of the frame exercise until he notices that the man’s arms are shaky.

As much as he wants to suggest Hanzo take a break, Jesse bites his tongue.

“Jus’ here to clean the mirrors.” Jesse holds up the bottle and rag, offering up his evidence. “Pretend I’m not here. Shouldn’t be too hard for ya, darlin’.” He winks for good measure, and is rewarded with a priceless look on Hanzo’s face.

Some lovely mixture of embarrassment and bewilderment is behind the man’s furrowed brow. His lips knit tightly together. Jesse readies himself, bracing for the fight - and deflates when Hanzo merely turns away, facing the other direction.

“Fine.” Hanzo lifts his arms and squares his shoulders, resuming a ballroom frame. “Try staying out of the way.”

“Peachy.” Jesse gives Hanzo a wide berth as he pads over to the mirror and starts spraying it with the cleaning solution. “I’ll do my best not to fall in front of you.” 

Jesse hears no more humming from Hanzo. There are no sounds save for the shuffle and patter of Hanzo’s shoes against the floor.

“Want me to turn on some music for you?” Jesse offers, seeing how no conversation is forthcoming and the silence is growing thicker by the second. 

Hanzo doesn’t stop dancing, but he doesn’t ignore him. “Genji took my phone. If you have a Viennese waltz song…”

“I can search for one.” Jesse pulls his phone out of his back pocket and brings up a music app. “Why’d he leave you here with no phone?”

“He thought it would make me leave with them.” Hanzo huffs the smallest laugh, breaking his rigid posture to shake his head. “Look for something by Johann Strauss.”

Jesse messes up the spelling, but the search engine finds who he’s looking for without a hitch. He scrolls down the artist page, looking for the top hits when a title catches his eye. “Where the Lemon Trees Blossom sound familiar?”

“Yes… that’s a favorite of mine,” Hanzo admits, gaze scrutinizing Jesse like he’s suddenly aware that they managed to talk for a minute without exchanging barbs. Jesse is just as surprised, but he figures it won’t last if they keep talking.

“S’pretty name for a song,” Jesse remarks before he connects his phone to the speaker and taps play. The music is lofty and vaulting, filling the small studio with the phantom of a full orchestra. 

It ain’t his style, but he allows it ain’t half bad. There’s a little sway in his movements as Jesse gets back to work, wiping the mirrors dry and occasionally watching Hanzo’s reflection move across the floor in a counter-clockwise rotation.

A relative peace settles between them. 

Jesse supposes he should’ve seen it coming when the window next to him shatters. It’s reflex that kicks in quick, arm shielding his face from the spray of shards.

There between he and Hanzo is the flaming remains of a bottle of vodka. The kind you see in mobster movies. Its contents are pouring out, spreading a trail of fire across the floor.

“What in the HELL?” Jesse swears, blindly rushing out of the room, mind racing faster than he can find the fire extinguisher.

He needs to call the cops. 

He needs to call his dads.

He needs to find whoever’s responsible. 

Cymbals clash in a different song, making Jesse’s heart race faster as his imagination conjures up his worst fears realized. 

_No, fire first._ Jesse shakes off the image of the Castillo Ballroom engulfed in flames and skids back into the room with the fire extinguisher. The flames are higher, nearly at his waist, but Hanzo has poured the contents of his water bottle around the fire in an attempt to keep it contained.

“Alright, stand back.” Jesse pulls the pin, aims the nozzle, and is filled with a desperate relief when the foamy white discharge puts out the flames.

“Your family has enemies,” Hanzo surmises, critically eyeing him before gesturing to the charred floor and broken glass. “Is this something we should expect often?”

Jesse’s had enough Viennese orchestra music sending his blood pressure skyrocketing. He turns off the music and quickly dials a number.

“If I say yes, will you leave?” Jesse snaps back as the dial tone rings. The struck look on Hanzo’s face before he leaves the studio brings him less satisfaction than he thought it would, but Jesse has more important things to attend to right now.

The ringing goes on and on to the point he thinks he might get the voice message when something clicks and he hears a sleepy voice.

“Jesse?”

“Fareeha - aw, shit, were you sleeping?”

A yawn fills the receiver, and somewhere in the background, Jesse hears what he can only guess is irritated German.

“Yeah - some of us have to wake up at the asscrack of drawn. What’s going on? Is everything okay?”

“Sorry to be troubling you, but I gotta report an arson at the ballroom.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for reading! ♥ ∠( ᐛ 」∠) ＿

**Author's Note:**

> (For those who may be curious, the title was inspired by a swing song near and dear to my Lindy Hopper's heart. Here is my favorite version of it: [T'Ain't What You Do by Jimmie Lunceford & His Orchestra](https://youtu.be/1SkoD2CIakQ).
> 
> ... I swear, I didn't intend for the title to reflect the filth that I am.)


End file.
